Rara avis
by P.L.U.C.K
Summary: What happens when a broken 14 yr old girl meets a magical boy. Will he be able to save her from her father and herself? I suk at summeries just r
1. Introduction

She was a magnificent girl. She would dance with the stars and sing with the birds. She had the voice of an angel and the grace of a swan. She also had a wonderful imagination. Her stories could bring you to places more wonderful and magical than anybody else could ever dream of. She kept a journal full of them. Every story was completely unique and even more enthralling than the one before it. But reading one of her stories did not even compare to hearing her tell one. Children and adults alike would beg her to tell them a story, and she never refused.

Her name was Lorelei. It was easy to see that when she grew, all the boys were in love with her beauty and charm, but she never would give one more then an innocent smile. There was only one boy for her. His name was Ubel. They were childhood sweethearts, madly in love as soon as they laid eyes upon one another at the tender age of three. Or, to be more accurate, Lorelei fell in love at the tender age of three. Love is the last thing on the minds of most three year old boys. But she persisted and he soon loved her more than anyone else on earth. They stayed with each other all their lives and were married by 17. They didn't have anything but each other, but that was more than enough to keep them happy forever, but sometimes forever isn't long enough.

Lorelei was soon pregnant with a baby girl. Ubel had never been happier. He felt he would burst with joy. He watched her stomach grow bigger and bigger over the course of the next nine months. He couldn't wait, a daughter, his daughter, their daughter...His life was completely perfect...how naive he was.

The day finally arrived, the day their daughter was to be born. Lorelei grasped his hand tightly as she struggled through the child birth. He watched the doctor's brow wrinkle. Something was wrong, he could tell. There was too much blood. There seemed to be pools of it everywhere. The room began to spin as her grip on his hand grew weaker and weaker. The tiny, wrinkled little child finally came out, filling the room with crying and screaming.

Lorelei held the tiny baby in her arms and said to her with tears of joy in her eyes, "My daughter, my beautiful, beautiful daughter." She could feel her body growing weaker and weaker. She finally had everything she had always wanted, but it was just too late. She whispered to her newly born daughter, "Your name shall be Algoma, valley of flowers" She kissed her baby softly upon her cheek. "I will always love you, always." Her head fell back upon the pillow and her eyes fell closed, as she let her soul escape her body and drift upwards.

Ubel died that day, or at least his heart did. He became cold and distant, completely resenting Algoma. In his mind it was her fault the love of his life had been taken from him. The only thing that could bring him out of his permanent depression was alcohol. Everynight he would go out to the bar and come back early the next morning. Sometimes he didn't come back for days. These were days that Algoma prayed for.

Her father was a very violent drunks and the fact that he hated and resented her with every fiber of his being did not help the situation in the least. Her back was full of scars resulting from previous bouts of drunken rage. She grew up with this abuse and had learned to take it. Putting upa fight only made it worse. The only thing to do was to run and hide whenever he came home.

The only times she ever felt truely happy, was when she was by herself in her small, little room. She would sit by her windows for hours, just staring at the stars and dreaming.

She had her mother's imagination. For hours she would sit at her window and dissapear into a land full of mermaids and pirates and fairies. She would dream of just flying out her window and into the night sky, of flying far, far away to a land that was completely foreign to anything she had ever known...but it was just a dream.

One night, just like any other night, she sat at her window gazing up at the night stars. There was one star in particular on this night though that happened to catch her eye. It wouldn't seem any different from any of the other stars to anybody else, but something about it just seemed to stand out to her.

She stared at it intently, studying the small, twinkling dot in the vast night sky above her. Without ever moving her eyes from the star, she whispered,

"I wish I may, I wish I might, grant this wish I wish tonight...Please, oh please take me away from here, anywhere…"

She closed her eyes and concentrated hard on her wish. When she opend her eyes again, she tried looking for the star again, but for some reason, she couldn't find it.

She jumped when she heard the front door swing open. Her heart began beating faster and faster as she heard her father calling her name.


	2. The meeting

She laboriously crawled back up to her room, desperately trying to ignore the spasms of pain racing through her muscles. Her father had punched her repeatadly in the stomach until she had doubled over in pain. Once she was on the floor he continued to kick her until his big black boots created large, round gashes in her legs. The blood from the wounds in her leg had left hideous dark stains on her already dark jeans. Due to the dark color of her pants, the stains seemed as harmless as spilled milk.

After a while, when her screams had become stifled by her raw throat, her father grew bored and ordered her to clean up the blood she had left on the kitchen floor. Then and only then was she allowed back into the sanctity of her room.

She quickly changed out of her blood stained clothing and threw them into an empty laundrey basket by the door. Once she had cleaned and dressed her wounds, she toilsomely limped over to her window, as she usually did when she was feeling at her lowest. Her eyes were drawn to her usually vacant chair where a freshly picked white lily sat, not yet in bloom. The flower was so simple, but yet, so incredably beautiful and magnificent. It was so pure, and white, and flawless, that it almost seemed to glow. She was almost afraid to touch it. It just didn't seem right for her hands to fall upon it's perfection.

She reached out for it, but her hand paused. She held her breath as her hand brushed up against it's faultless stem. It felt slightly warm to the touch. But how could that be possible? The room was freezing. Her father never payed the heating bill.

How could it have gotten there? It was if by magic...

Algoma put the lily in a crystal vase that had been her mother's. It was one of the few posessions of her mother's she had managed to hide from her father. She had a couple of her mother's things that she kept under a loose floor board in her room. She had the vase, her mother's hair brush, a tattered old photo of her mother, and a book of stories her mother had written.

The vase was beautiful. There were tiny roses carved from the crystal that wound their way around the vase until they reached the top where a larger rose sat in full bloom. The thorns on the stems were sharp to the touch and Algoma had pricked herself on the treacherous carvings more than a few times.

The hairbrush was exquisite. It was made of silver with small flecks of gold. The gold swirled around in slender lines around pools of silver that folded upon themselves creating shining ripples that sparkled in the sunlight.

The tattered photograph was the only way Algoma could ever know her mtoher's face. She had never met her mother, so she was unable to call upon any memory of her. All she had was the photograph. From what she could tell, the picture had been taken when her mother was fairly young, and to Algoma, she was the prettiest woman she had ever seen.

Algoma longed for her mother's beauty and thought it unfair that she gained many of her physical attributes from the man she so despised. Her mother had long, golden hair that fell upon her shoulders in beautiful, flowing waves. Her skin was like porcelin, fair and flawless. Her body was long and slender, and she had the kind of smile you only see in toothpaste commercials. Algoma on the other hand had short strawberry blonde hair that refused to hold a single curl. Her skin was fair, but it made her look more sickly than beautiful. (This due to her father keeping her locked in her room.) Algoma is neither long nor slender. Not to say she is fat, but more that she is quite short which makes her legs seem quite small and stubby.

The most important part of her mother that Algoma possesed was the book of stories her mother has written. She had found the book in the trash when she was seven. The bright, happy pictures on the front had drawn her attention to it and she knew that she had to save it. The stories had always helped Algoma to keep going when she was feeling at her worst. They were so happy and magical, it was impossible to read one without having a smile on your face by the end. Everyday she wished life could be the way they were in her mother's stories. She wished everyday for her own happily ever after, and she never gave up hope that it would happen. It was the only way she could keep going.

She put the vase on the nightstand beside her bed. It never even occurred to her at the time what her father would do to her if he were to see it there.

Algoma was fast asleep when she heard a crash. Thinking it was her father, she dove under the blankets in a pathetic attempt to hide. Her heart stopped in her chest as she listened carefully for any noise in the room.

The beat of her heart sounded as if a giant were playing hopscotch inside her room. Her head began to pound as she anticipated her father's approach.

After a few moments of silence she peered out from beneath the safety of her blankets into the darkness of her room. Her head slowly rose from the pillow, her eyes scanning the room for any foreign objects. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, they scanned the room a second time and then a third.

There was nobody there. Her heart began to beat again at it's normal pace. However there was a slight change in the room that her careful observations had failed to notice. It was not until she felt the breeze upon her cheek that she noticed the window was open. The rustling curtains created ghostly shadows across the bare floor in the light of the full moon.

She pushed the blankets aside and climbed out of bed. The cool air sent chills down her bare arms as she approached the open window. She wrapped her arms across her thin tee-shirt, attempting to keep warm from the cold night air.

Before closing the window she stared up at the night sky and the thousands of tiny stars winking at her. But one in particular stood out to her. It was twinkling much more than the other stars as if it were almost restless. She stayed by the window studying the vast night sky before she finally tore her eyes away.

Puzzled by both the open window and the restless star, she turned back to her bed.

As she walked back to her bed she noticed a second change. The lily was now in full bloom. But how was this possible? It had no roots. It was freshly picked.

On further examination of the flower she realized it's full beauty. The beautiful simplicity of the flower was breathtaking. It seemed she could stare at it for hours, gettiing lost in it's beauty.The petals seemed to be made of silk and the yellow inside seemed to be made of spun gold.

Her fingers hesitated as she reached down to stroke the soft, flawless petals. They were the softest things she had ever felt before. The flower is the essence of perfection.

She walked back over to the window and found a dozen more lilys. These were a deep scarlet that were absolutely beautiful, but could hardly be compared to the pureness and the simplicity of the white one. How did they get there? She was just by the window a moment ago and the lilys had not been.

She checked the window and second time and upon seeing that it was still securely latched, she turned around back to her bed.

Due to fatigue, she simply shrugged it off and placed the bouqet in the vase along with the white one and went back to sleep.

The next night Algoma went to sleep with the shape of an iron printed onto her back. She had been ironing clothes when her father walked in. He started shouting and cursing at her. Then he threw her on the floor and pressed the iron into her back. She cringed trying not to scream, knowing that if she did it would just cause her more pain.

She tried lying down on her back, but jumped back up yelping at the pain.

"Whats wrong?" The sweetest, most wonderful voice she had ever heard filled her ears with the simple, childsh question. It was a boy's voice that sounded as sweet as honey and as smooth as silk. It was a voice that could make a person melt where they stood.

She quickly turned around searching for the source of the voice. She slowly scanned the room, but still she saw nothing.

"Up here."

She looked up and saw a boy who looked roughly her age sitting on top of her bookshelf. All she could do was stare at him with an open mouth and wide eyes.

He was gorgeous. He had sandy blonde hair that hung down to his shoulders in loose curls. It was messy and uncombed, which made him look innocent and sweet. His eyes were blue pools that just sucked her in. They made her forget all of her worries, and made her happy and carefree. It was imposible to look away from them. They held the very essence of innocence and childish happiness that she had long forgotten existed. He looked scrawney, but not weak in the least.

He wore a green hat with a long red feather in it and as he floated to the ground off of the bookshelf, he proceeded to remove his hat and dramtically bowed before her. "It's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Peter Pan."

She was thoroughly afraid of the doe headed youth that stood before her, no matter how cute he may have been. The point was that there was a strange boy in her room who had just magically floated down to the floor.

He could see the fear and confusion in her eyes and before she could scream, he ran up behind her faster than you could blink and clamped his hand over her mouth. "Please don't scream. I dreadfully hate it when girls scream, it's such a horrible sound."

Her eyes were open so wide she was afraid they might fall out. Who is this strange boy? Is he going to kill her?

"Now when I take my hand away, do you promise not to scream? I swear I'm not going to hurt you. Cross my heart." He proceeded to childishly cross his fingers and make a cross across his chest. He looked into her eyes as he said this and she could see nothing but innocence in his eyes.

She nodded her head yes and he slowly took his hand away from her face.

"Wh-What are you doing here?" She timidly asked him.

"I saw you crying. I thought I might cheer you up."


End file.
